


days go by my window

by colberts



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colberts/pseuds/colberts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad loves little in life, but he loves his job the most, and he is useless in everything else. The threat of losing that...what was a little misery compared to finding himself without purpose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	days go by my window

Brad wakes up every morning and climbs out of bed at 5:35 am. He drinks 10 oz. of coffee with a teaspoon of sugar and washes his mug when he’s done. He showers and listens to the latest bullshit news while he pulls on his boots, then he drives himself to base to do his job. Sometimes it’s paperwork, sometimes it’s training. Sometimes it’s discipline for little boot morons that got themselves into drunken trouble. Most days, he runs himself into the ground, the rubber soles of his go fasters soft in the heat of the blacktop where he sprints his way to exhaustion. There are pools to drown in and walls to scale and sometimes there are missions that send them up into the mountains or out to sea. There are fractured bones and ripped tendons and tape and sweat and blood, and all of it tells him that he’s still going, he’s still the best.

But when his heart pounds in his ears with every pull up or push up or sit up, he doesn’t hear _alive, alive, alive_. All he hears is _coward_.

\---

_your a fucking idiot_

Brad’s thumb brushes over the OK button, ready to delete it. It isn’t the first message like it, and it won’t be the last. His toothbrush hangs out of his mouth, stalled when he’d paused to dig his phone out of his pocket, and he resists the urge to rip it out of his mouth and fling it. He deletes the message and spits into the sink, white swirled with red because he’d scrubbed too hard.

_i will start leaving messages with your fellow warriors if you dont start answering_

He pulls off his sock and deletes that one, too.

_what are you even trying to accomplish with your martyr shit_

He rolls his eyes and changes into a t-shirt to sleep in.

_i know thats what it is even if you wont fucking tell me_

It had been easier to ignore when Brad could just silence the ringing, but he’d stopped calling when Brad’s voicemail had filled up.

_i hope each one is costing you a quarter_

_grow a fucking pair_

_i can go all night ;)_

_call me to make it stop_

Brad holds down the “3” and waits for it to ring. It’s halfway through the second one when Ray picks up the phone.

“Hey there, buddy. Hope you can hear me with your head that far up your ass.”

“Fuck off, Person. If you don’t cease and desist, I’m flying out there to extract a pound of flesh as payment to cover the bill I’m going to get for all your troubles.”

“Cheaper than all the therapy you’re going to need in ten years if you don’t grow the fuck up.”

“I don’t remember asking for your advice,” Brad says as he climbs into bed. “And it’s none of your fucking business.”

“It became my business when you forgot to lock your door.”

Brad is not discussing it, he’s not going to talk to Ray fucking Person about it, there’s nothing to say on the subject and he shouldn’t have to deal with Ray when he’s halfway across the country in his pathetic hick town.

“It’s not your business. It’s _nobody’s_ business. So go back to fucking your sister and stop abusing my phone.”

“Keep telling yourself that, homes, but the knitting circle’s all up in arms because you’re extra formidable lately. And even if you’re still paddling along _da Nile_ , you better get yourself squared away before the others start putting the pieces together.”

Brad’s stomach creeps up into his throat. “What do you,” but the rest of the words won’t come out.

“Like Gunny hasn’t put two and two together.” Ray pauses, sucking in a slow breath before continuing. “Nobody else knows, though. Nobody really keeps in touch with our esteemed Captain.” Kindness sounds even more pathetic when it’s coming out of Ray’s mouth.

“Just stay the fuck out of it, Ray.” He snaps his phone shut.

Brad counts the seconds as they crawl by, following the shadows on his ceiling as cars glide past in the darkness. He’s at 137 when his phone buzzes.

_idk what you did but unfuck the situation before you actually freeze up for good iceman_

_idiot_

\---

Brad hadn’t been able to deal with it. He had hated always looking over his shoulder, always making excuses for his whereabouts and pretending to be out of town.

Brad loves little in life, but he loves his job the most, and he is useless in everything else. The threat of losing that...what was a little misery compared to finding himself without purpose?

But the paranoia that had grown from what they’d done behind closed doors ruled Brad’s life outside the bedroom, and he’d catch himself reaching for fingers to grip or leaning in close to say hello with a brush of his lips, and the switch would flip inside him. He’d catalog every civilian in sight, scrutinizing and wondering whether or not he’d just given them the power to destroy him. In the back of his mind, he’d considered giving that power to one person. Giving it away to everyone that laid eyes on them was something Brad couldn’t afford to do.

So he’d walked away.

\---

There were emails and phone calls. The occasional text.

_how are you?_

_please answer_

_i’m so fucking pissed at you._

But Brad was good at denying himself - it made him efficient, cold-blooded, the best - and where weaker men may have given in, Brad held fast and ran more laps.

\---

“I know you’re in there,” Nate says through Brad’s front door as Brad stands frozen in his hallway with a beer in one hand and an ear of corn in the other. So much for his appetite.

He detours through the kitchen, trying to buy himself time as he wraps up his dinner and sets down his beer.

“Seriously, Brad, I am not above giving your neighbors a show. Open the fucking door.”

Brad takes a deep breath before he complies. “What do you want?”

Nate looks tired, nearly as tired as he’d looked in the desert, though he’s marginally cleaner.

“An explanation, for starters, and then an apology once you’ve come to terms with how big an idiot you’ve been,” Nate says, a false smile plastered on his face as he pushes past Brad into the house.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Brad starts, but Nate rounds on him, pinning him in place with a glare that could bring lesser men to their knees.

“Or I could just tell you what your problem is and _then_ you can apologize.” Brad just blinks at him. “Fine, that way. First of all, I didn’t sign up for easy, but I’ve got to admit that you’re proving to be a bigger hassle than I thought you would be.”

“Fuck you,” but Nate’s not stopping for Brad’s half-hearted interruption.

“Second of all, putting aside whatever internalized homophobia issues you’ve got, the policy is _don’t ask, don’t tell_. I’m not telling, and the Corps is certainly not asking. You are one of their most valuable assets, Brad. They’ve pumped so much money into your training that they wouldn’t dare discharge you, especially not with all the publicity we got after Wright published everything.”

“You don’t know that,” Brad tries again but Nate shakes his head.

“I do know that we could’ve had this conversation like adults two months ago when you were in my fucking bed instead of me having to rearrange my entire fucking life to come out here and berate you.”

“This is _my_ _fucking life!_ ” Brad yells, surprising them both. He unclenches his fists and looks away, reigning himself in, searching for the remains of his control. It had all unraveled the night he’d grabbed the back of Nate’s neck and tugged. Nate crosses his arms and waits. “This is what I’m good at. It’s what I know.”

“And you’re not allowed to have a life outside that?”

“As _what_?” And isn’t that the problem? He follows orders, he does his job. What else is there outside of that?

“As the person I love?”

His laughter is bitter. “You’re in business, politics. There’s no room for this in your life any more than there’s room for it in mine. I just did you the favor of being the one to make the call.”

Brad watches Nate’s chest rise and fall as they both fail to find any more words. The silence winds around them, holding them apart, but it’s fragile.

“You’re afraid,” Nate says calmly, like he’s tasting each word before it leaves his mouth. “You have all kinds of excuses ready, and you can tell yourself all you want that they’re valid.” He shakes his head, rubs the back of his neck. He takes his time meeting Brad’s eyes.

“They are valid.”

“They’re trivial!” Nate throws up his hands and steps in closer. “This will never be easy and there will always be risks. But I have never lived my life as someone I’m not or let it be dictated by fear. I left the Corps, didn’t I?” Brad’s heart beats so loud in his ears that he thinks he may be having a heart attack. “I know what I want. So do you. And it doesn’t make you less of a man.”

“I don’t know what I want.” It’s more honest than he’s been with Nate so far. Brad knows what he loves, but he isn’t used to getting what he wants. There’s what he’s always done and what he’s never done, and the only thing he’s certain of is that he can’t have it all. He’s already made the choice once. He's not sure why Nate thinks he'd ever make a different call.

“I’ll give you some time, Brad. You can have a little more, think about everything and see if you come to a different conclusion.” Brad hates goodbyes. “But I’m not waiting forever.”

\---

Brad wakes up every morning and climbs out of bed at 5:35 am. He drinks 10 oz. of coffee with a teaspoon of sugar and washes his mug when he’s done. He showers and listens to the latest bullshit news while he pulls on his boots, then he drives himself to base to do his job. Sometimes it’s paperwork, sometimes it’s training. Sometimes it’s discipline for little boot morons that got themselves into drunken trouble. Most days, he waits until he gets home to run himself into the ground, and Nate always pinches his arm when he catches up after Brad leaves without him.

When his heart beats in his ears with every pounding step, all he hears is _alive, alive, alive_.

**Author's Note:**

> jotted this down between classes on a shitty day. everything I write about Brad seems to be variations on this theme, but I can't resist. all comments are appreciated!


End file.
